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<title>Building a House (Making a Home) by bluesargenttt</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28346427">Building a House (Making a Home)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesargenttt/pseuds/bluesargenttt'>bluesargenttt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort/Angst, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:20:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28346427</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesargenttt/pseuds/bluesargenttt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Alina and Mal remember where home is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mal Oretsev/Alina Starkov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prompt: They both have nightmares.<br/>
____________________________________________________________________________</p><p>When the house finally quiets, and all of the lights turn out, Alina climbs into bed. Her lace nightgown punches up around her waist as she settles on her side of their small mattress. </p><p>Mal blows out the candles in the hallway and then the small one on their dresser before settling behind her. His hands assume their usual place over her abdomen as he pulls her back to his chest. </p><p>He buries his face in the crook of her neck. Alina lets the tide of his breaths drift her away. </p><p>__</p><p>She was in the Fold. Her bare feet dug into the ashen sand as screams and explosions filled the air around her. The sharp tang of iron sat heavily on her tongue. </p><p>Alina looked down. Her nightgown was ripped and bloody, and Mal was lying dead at her feet. A scream caught in her throat. </p><p>__</p><p>She wakes up quietly. </p><p>Her eyes flutter open, training on the wooden edge of their windowsill. </p><p>Her tears come silently. Images of Mal, his blood staining her hands, his still-warm fingers wrapped around her wrist. Her heart speeds up as her thoughts spiral, but she doesn't move, not even to dry her tears on the pillow. </p><p>It doesn’t take him long to wake up. Although he can’t feel the woods anymore, can’t hear the rustle of the leaves or the distant chirping of the blue jays, he feels Alina. </p><p>He tugs her closer, burrowing his head in the divot where her neck and shoulder meet. Maybe it makes her cry harder. She isn’t sure. </p><p>Her hands travel down to her stomach where Mal is hugging her tight. Her fingers twine with his. </p><p>He presses a sweet kiss below her ear. </p><p>Alina’s breathing starts to even out. </p><p>They fall into a dreamless slumber.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prompt: He isn’t sure he's enough.<br/>
____________________________________________________________________________</p><p>“Saints!” Alina curses when her foot catches on one of the faulty steps. </p><p>Since her and Mal settled in Keramzin, she’s taken to dressing as low-maintenance as she likes. She wears her hair - it’s grown so long the ends brush her lower back - down at all times. She often pads around the house barefoot, a bad habit with all of the nails and splintered wood littering the floors. </p><p>She’s too busy tending to her bruised heel to notice Mal watching her. He’s standing at the foot of the steps, bow slung over his shoulder and hunting boots dangling precariously from his fingers. </p><p>She doesn’t see the uncertainty in his eyes. </p><p>He often wonders if this is enough. If the remains of what was once Keramzin is enough when she could have had a palace. If a crown of driftwood is somehow better than one wreathed in gold. </p><p>He doesn’t linger. He creeps silently to the front door, still off its hinges. </p><p>He hopes the woods will drown his fears, but they don’t answer his call.</p>
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